Oblivious Daydreaming
by goldensnitch18
Summary: A series of One Shots and Drabbles about Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.
1. Adventures in Babysitting

**Oblivious Daydreaming**

A series of One Shots and Drabbles about Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

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 **Adventures in Babysitting**

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 **A Dramione One Shot** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

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 **Summary:** Draco doesn't particularly like children, but when his mother is finally happy again, he will do anything to keep her that way, even babysitting his three-year-old cousin. When things go awry, he calls on the only person he can think of for help.

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 **Disclaimer:** I am not profiting from this story. Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.

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 **Beta Magic:** Many thanks to Emeraudedeux and LadyParongsny for working your magic on this one shot. I greatly appreciate your time and effort in making it more beautiful for my dear friend Sarah. All my love. Xoxoxo

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 **Dedication:** To my beautiful friend, my love, my beta, one of the few people I must talk to every day to feel like everything is right in the world, Happy Birthday, my dear. You are a goddess, a cheerleader, and a friend without measure. Thank you for being one of my rocks, for talking me off cliffs, making me a better writer, and, mostly, for making me laugh. I love you, so this one is for you RooOJoy. I hope that you enjoy this story and your day. XOXOXO

\- Goldensnitch18

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Draco hated these damn things. His mother had never made him attend parties for three-year-old's before the war. It was ridiculous. The cake and the screaming and the damn company. It was too bloody much. It was great for his mother that she had rekindled a tentative friendship with her sister. He was happy for her, really, but did that mean he had to attend this loud, sticky, mess of an event?

"DRACO!" The birthday boy himself came careening around the corner into the kitchen. His hair shifted from pink to blue as his cake laced fingers gripped Draco's sweater. The boy said his name with a K, and it drove him absolutely crazy.

"What do you want?" he asked, his nose turning up while the bits of green frosting seemed to permanently adhere to him.

"I'm this many now!" the boy told him excitedly as he held up three awkward fingers.

"Yes, I know that," Draco said tersely. "That is why they made me come here."

"Will you come play Quidditch with me? Uncle Harry says he can best you, but I don't believe it, Draco! You are the best flyer. I told him." As the boy looked up at him with expectant eyes, Draco heard a soft snort beside him. He turned his head to glare at the woman hiding in the corner of the room, her nose in a book, of course.

"Teddy, I think Granger wants to play Quidditch. She is the best flyer, clearly."

Hermione let her book fall down to her chest and flared back at the blonde boy. " _Malfoy,_ " she warned.

"Yes, Herminny! Yes, come play quidditch with us! Auntie Ginny is playing!"

"Yes," Draco agreed. "His Auntie is playing, Hermione. Surely you want to play now." He smirked at her, and she glared harder.

"Please, Herminny," the boy begged.

"You're going to break the boy's heart," Draco told her as he tried to look innocent and failed miserably. "It's his birthday."

"Yes!" Teddy said as if he had just remembered. He showed them his fingers again, struggling to keep his pinky down with his thumb. "I'm this many!"

Hermione smiled softly at him and turned her body towards the boy. "I tell you what, Teddy. Quidditch isn't really something I like to do, but I would love to take you to the bookstore this week. Quincy Dragon is going to be there for a reading on Thursday morning. Would you like that?" The boy's eyes grew wide at the mention of the book character.

"He's my favorite!"

"Mine too," Hermione confessed, her eyes sparkling with delight. Draco believed her.

"Can we really go see him?" he asked in amazement.

"We will. I will talk to grandma before we leave today, okay?"

"Okay!" he shouted. Then, Teddy was running again, away from the pair, his Quidditch recruitment forgotten.

Hermione reached out a hand and playfully smacked Draco's shoulder. "You prat," she declared. "Trying to get _me_ on a broom?!"

"I would pay good money to see you on a broom," Draco told her as he laughed and imagined the sight.

"You're terrible. Why didn't you just go play Quidditch with him?"

"You heard him, his Uncle Harry would have lost and his massive ego broken."

"Oh, Harry is the one with the massive ego now?" Hermione snorted softly again.

"Besides," Draco continued, "that boy is too loud and sticky for anyone's good."

"Teddy?" Hermione asked, a smile on her face. "He clearly adores you."

"He is terrible. All children are terrible."

"They _are_ generally loud and sticky, but they are fun and innocent, and you just have to know how to handle them," she insisted.

"Oh, so you're a child rearing professional now?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

"No, of course not. I work in Magical Creatures," she told him. At first he thought she was serious, but then the corner of her mouth turned up in a grin.

"Oh, Granger." He shook his head at her. It still amazed him that the pair of them could sit here and have a civil conversation. So much had changed since the war. They had both gone back to Hogwarts. He had been required, and she had chosen it. When his father had gone to Azkaban, his mother had been shattered and alone. This had led her to reached out to the only family she had left - her sister. Draco had been broken and lost, and Hermione had become a friend to him in a time when no one else wanted to acknowledge his existence.

"DRACO!" he heard again. The boy was back. "COME ON!" he bellowed.

"You better go," Granger laughed, and Draco begrudgingly rose from his chair.

XXX

Draco was going to murder his own mother. There was no getting around it. The blasted woman had gone to the theatre with her sister. Harry bloody Potter was supposed to watch the boy, but he had apparently been called out of town urgently for work, and his wife was out of the country for a match. Draco had been sure it couldn't be very difficult to deal with the child, but now he was fairly certain he would rather face dark wizards than this tiny tyrant.

Teddy had absolutely lost his mind. Draco had told him that he needed to eat his dinner before he had any pudding, and it was as if a blast-ended skrewt had taken over his body. Gone was the fun, laughing blue-haired little boy who made him read Quincy Dragon and the Bewitched Carpet fifteen times. He had been replaced by clenched fists and shrieking, and his hair had turned a brilliant orange and red. "NO!" he shouted again. "I won't! I want pudding now!"

Draco tried to reason with the boy, but he just seemed to get angrier. He began throwing things and knocked over his cup, pouring juice all over the table. "I'm not your friend, Draco!" he shouted, and Draco just stared at him, bewildered, watching the tantrum erupt and grow larger. The boy stood, stomping on his chair. He lifted a piece of chicken from his plate and threw it at the ground. "Grandma would give me pudding," he screamed, and if the boy's face wasn't turning a light shade of purple, this probably would have made Draco laugh. Andromeda Tonks wouldn't give a grown man pudding before he finished his vegetables.

"Teddy, you need to sit down and eat," Draco insisted firmly.

"Not until you give me pudding!" He reached down and grabbed his spoon. By the time Draco realized what he was going to do with it, but it was too late. The gooey applesauce smacked him square in the chest.

"No!" Draco chided, "We do not throw food at Draco!" Teddy just laughed and reached down for more food. Draco ran. He slammed the door to the kitchen shut and moved straight for the Floo.

XXX

"He's a little dictator," Draco declared, two hours later.

"All three-year-olds are," Hermione insisted.

"He must be the worst," the blond moaned.

"Not even close," she laughed and shook her head. "My cousin's daughter is much, much worse." She shivered, apparently put off at the thought of the girl.

There was a long pause where neither one of them said anything. They just sat on the sofa and faced one another. She had her legs bent in front of her, her bare feet pointed at him, and he looked down at her toes. They wiggled as she followed his gaze to her yellow polish. "Thank you," he said finally, "for coming over."

"No problem. I like being around Teddy," she smiled softly, and he grunted.

"I'm going to tell my mother to get a goblin to watch him next time she gets a crazy idea like this in her head."

"It was nice of you to agree at the last minute," Hermione told him. The way she looked at him made him feel odd. It seemed that she could see much more of him than he was comfortable revealing. She often made him feel that way.

"She doesn't really do much. She, uh, she still struggles with my dad being, well …" He trailed off. She didn't need to know the details of how his mother still woke up screaming for Lucius in the middle of the night, or how she cried as he held her while she sobbed about how terrible that place was. It didn't happen as much now that he had moved out, but occasionally it was still so bad that her elf would show up at his flat looking for him.

"Do you?" Hermione asked, her voice soft.

"Not particularly." He forced the words out past a sharp lump in his throat. His father was not a subject that Draco loved to discuss. His feelings about the man were complicated at best.

"Oh, okay." She wrapped her arms around her legs and leaned forward. They fell into silence again, and he tried to come up with something to say to her. Each idea that floated through his brain seemed dumber than the last. He finally settled on asking her about her job when his mother stepped into the room, followed by her sister.

"You have a guest," Narcissa said as she smiled at Hermione.

"I should go." Hermione moved to stand quickly, and he followed her.

"Yeah, me too." His mother gave him a questioning look as Hermione passed her.

He ignored her and headed for the door.

XXX

Two weeks later, his mother had him over for tea. She had been talking about how nice the show was and how lovely it had been to get out of the house. His mother was so happy that she and Andromeda seemed to be really getting as close as they once were so long ago before she had been forbidden from speaking to her any more. It had taken so much work, but they were finally friends again. As Draco had watched as her eyes lit up and her smile broadened, he hadn't been able to stop his fat mouth from telling her that he would watch Teddy anytime the pair of them wanted to go out. He was happy that she was so happy.

His mother had cashed in on that offer exactly one week later. On Saturday afternoon, she was going to take Andromeda to get some lunch and see a new sculpture art exhibit featuring famous witches throughout history. Andromeda had the boy eating lunch when he arrived.

"He's nearly finished, Draco," Andromeda told him quietly. Draco was thankful for that, and hopefully that would mean that he wouldn't get chicken chucked at him again. "Just put him down for his nap after." That sounded easy enough to Draco. He was quite looking forward to reading his book while the boy slept.

Teddy finished his lunch shortly after the two women finally left the house, and Draco washed his plate in the sink and put it in the rack to dry. "Can we play Quidditch?" Teddy asked as he waited for Draco to dry his hands.

"Not right now," Draco told him. "We're going to take a nap first." The words slipped out of his mouth without a care in the world, and he was immediately made to regret them.

Teddy crossed his arms, pushed his bottom lip out, and said, "I don't need a nap. I'm three-years-old now."

"Your grandma said you need a nap, Teddy," Draco told him.

"Grandma doesn't make me take naps. She _doesn't_ ," Teddy demanded.

"That isn't true," Draco crossed his own arms. "Let's go to bed."

"It is true!" The boy shouted. "It is!" Teddy stomped his foot hard and when he smiled, Draco knew he was in trouble. "Catch me," he told Draco, and then he was running. Draco considered chasing the boy for about half a second and then decided that seemed like too much work.

XXX

"So … they convinced you to watch him again?" Hermione asked. She was sitting on the back stoop. Draco sat beside her, leaning against the rail.

"Yes. Those awful old women," he grumbled.

"It's good that they have each other again," she insisted.

"Yeah, well, maybe they should find someone who likes kids to watch this little monster." Hermione laughed at him then, and he looked over at her. He wasn't sure he really minded when she was the one laughing at him. Several strands of her hair had fallen loose from her bun while she had been lying with Teddy. She had read to the boy again, stretched out beside him on the bed, and then sang some Muggle rhymes he hadn't known.

It was interesting to watch her with him. Draco clearly had no idea how to deal with Teddy, but Hermione seemed to always find some way of making him think everything was his idea. He wanted to pick out a book. He wanted to sit in bed while she read. He would be more comfortable with his head on the pillow. He would like to sing a soft song. He would like to rest his eyes just a bit, and then he was out; Draco was left to marvel over her.

"You seem to have found a good system," she joked. "You make him angry, and then you Floo me."

"It works for me," he told her. She shifted her body, turning towards him, her thigh pressed against his. He looked up at her face, and she watched him carefully as she bit her lip. "What?" he asked.

"Why?" she asked softly.

"What do you mean?" He was sure he knew what she was asking, but he didn't know if he wanted to answer.

"Why did you Floo me? The other time and today?" She pushed one of those strands back behind her ear, and he would have sworn a blush followed her hand up her cheek.

"I, well, I guess you were the first person I thought of," he said, not sure if she would think that was good or not.

"Oh." She nodded and looked out at the yard.

She looked disappointed, and suddenly, he knew he needed to say something else. "I like talking to you," he blurted without thought.

Hermione turned to face him again, surprised. "You do?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I wanted a reason to talk to you again."

"You could have just asked me to lunch," she said.

"Yeah, I guess," he agreed, feeling like that may have been the more logical solution.

"Or dinner," she leaned in closer then, and her eyes seemed to sparkle like they had when she was talking about Quincy Dragon at the birthday party. They were rather pretty when they sparkled.

"Like a date?" he asked and sounded utterly stupid.

"That would be nice," she whispered, her lips a breath away from his. His fingertips trailed the path up her arm to rest at her neck, and he rubbed a circle into her skin with his thumb. She smiled softly at the sensation as he closed the small gap between them. Hermione's lips were warm and gentle against his. She reached her own hand into his hair as she deepened their kiss, her tongue running along his lips. He made some variety of embarrassing noises as their chests touched, and he was pulling her closer with a hand at her waist.

"Hello," his mother's voice said, and Draco jumped back, moving away from Hermione as quickly as possible. His mother and Andromeda were both standing in the garden. They smiled up at him and Hermione without even the decency of a single ounce of shame for interrupting.

"Uh …"

"Are we intruding?" Andromeda asked them, her brow raised.

"No, of course not," Hermione began, standing quickly to make room for the women to pass them. Draco followed her lead, stepping up onto the porch. His mother smirked as she walked by him, and he glared in response. "I'm going to go," Hermione told him after both women were behind a closed door.

"I'm sorry," he insisted.

"It's okay." She smiled and glanced up at the door before she closed the space between them. Her lips met his in a hard, passionate kiss, and his hands had barely reached her waist before she pulled back. "Next time you Floo, you better buy me dinner," she said, and then she was gone.

XXX

Weasley answered the door when Draco knocked on Friday night. The taller, red-headed man glared down at him with disdain. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Why are you taking her out?" Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"She wants me to," Draco told him. He wasn't too concerned about Weasley's disappointment. He, and the entire world, had watched the pair struggle through six months of a very publicized relationship. They had been eighteen years old and stalked at every moment. Each date they went on, each walk they took, each event they attended, was photographed and picked apart. In the end, it had been too much. He had thought at the time that the pressure was the problem, but the previous year he had learned that it wasn't truly the case. The Weasley's had hosted a Christmas party, and, of course, his mother had made him come. He had gravitated to Granger, like he often did at these events. They had been talking about her parent's holiday to France when Ron had arrived, pulling Oliver Wood behind him by the hand.

Draco hadn't been sure what to think, but Hermione had quickly answered his questions. Once she had hugged Ron and Oliver tightly, kissing them both on the cheek, they had moved on to greet other family members. Hermione had pushed his jaw up a bit with her finger and laughed. "They've been together for nearly a year," she said.

"Together, like …"

"Yes, Draco, like that," she had smiled at the pair, her eyes following Oliver. "He's good for Ron. Oliver's fairly level headed outside of Quidditch, so he balances Ron out when he loses it."

"How did that even happen?" Draco had found himself asking.

"Oliver and Ginny played each other in a match just after the holidays. They were both pissed at a party at Harry's afterwards, and I guess one thing led to another."

"Must have been some shag to move him on to Wood from you," Draco had concluded without thinking. Hermione had simply laughed and offered to grab him a drink. He'd watched her arse as she walked away and continued to wonder why a bloke would want another bloke when he could have _that_ body to devour.

"Malfoy," Weasley was waving his hand at him. Draco started, realizing that he had gotten lost in the memory of Hermione's backside. He shook his head, and grumbled something indistinct.

"Where is Hermione, anyway?" he asked.

"She's finishing up. For some reason, she seems to want to impress you." Draco was sure that Weasley had meant it as an insult, but he wasn't going to take it as one. Hermione wanting to impress him was surely a good sign.

Suddenly, Hermione was behind Ron, her hand on his elbow. "Ron, stop being an idiot. Go home."

"I could wait here. Make sure you get home alright," the taller man offered.

Draco was glad when Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Go home, Ron."

She stared at him until he finally sighed. "I'll be at home if you need me." With one last glare at Draco, he spun and disappeared with a crack.

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand in hers, pulling him inside. She was wearing a dark blue dress and a black cardigan. Her hair was up again, somehow wrangled into ties and pins atop her head. He was sure she must use some sort of magic to achieve that.

"You look beautiful," he told her. Her lips curved into a soft grin.

"Thank you." She closed the space between them and grabbed his tie. "You look nice, too." He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that demanded he hold her tightly against him. Hermione clenched his shirt in her fingers, and he was tempted to keep holding her, reservation be damned.

Instead, he pulled back slowly. "We should get going," His voice sounded heavy in his own ears.

"I suppose we must," Hermione agreed.

XXX

Draco had fallen hard.

Well, he supposed the fall had been slow - _deliriously_ so. He had been falling for years without realizing it. She had forgiven him first, made the most effort in the beginning. She had befriended him, pulling him in with her books and her kind words. He had stopped hating his mother for dragging him along to every bloody thing nearly as soon as it had happened. He would never admit it to anyone, not even her, but by the time they had sat together on the sofa at Teddy's party, he had been determined to find a way to kiss her.

His mother had given him a reason. She had given him that terrible, terrible three-year-old, and Draco had used him. He wouldn't admit that either, but Teddy had given him the perfect excuse to spend more time with her. She had been all too willing to come help him, though, so surely she was to blame as well. She had been so good with Teddy. She had enchanted him even further, and when she leaned in on the stoop, there was no turning back. Draco had fallen slow and hit the pavement hard and fast. He was lost in her. It had only been a few months, and he was utterly consumed by Hermione Granger.

Tonight was their six month anniversary. He had made reservations at the same restaurant they had gone to on their first date. He had even requested the same waiter and taken off work early to get ready. He was hoping to be able to surprise her with the evening, but he was quickly learning that she was not a witch that was easy to pull one over on. She seemed to know his very thoughts before he thought them. He'd stopped by her office before he had left the Ministry. He had kissed her softly and told her that he might be late. He would pick up dinner tonight, and she shouldn't worry about planning anything. She had frowned and told him that his boss could surely spare him for one evening. It was a special night, and he had feigned his annoyance with the man as well. She had sighed softly, conceding that they could still have their special evening, just be a little later, and he headed straight for the exit to go home.

When he arrived, he loosened his tie and lifted it off over his head. He pulled his robes down his arms as he walked through his flat to his bedroom and then stopped. Sitting on the floor in a heap was Hermione's robes. The robes she had just been wearing at work. He frowned down at them, but began walking again. As he moved closer to his room, he discovered her dress on a chair and her bra on the handle of his door. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. She was lying on his bed in her heels and knickers, one of his old school ties resting between her breasts. Her hair was loose and wild around her face as she bit her bottom lip. "I thought you had to work late," she smirked.

"You." He stepped forward, throwing his robes on the ground. "Are." He pulled at his shirt. "An." The shirt fell to the ground. "Insufferable." His belt came undone. "Know it all." He pushed his trousers down to the floor and kicked his shoes off. He reached the bed and climbed onto it. His hand reached for one perfect leg, and he felt her soft skin beneath his fingers as he moved over her. He kissed his way up her body, relishing in her beauty.

"And _you_ are a sneaking, conniving Slytherin," she retorted. "Lying to me!"

"I was trying to surprise you," he insisted.

"And so was I," Hermione retorted. "Plus, my surprise is better," she insisted, and he had to agree, but he didn't have to tell her that. Instead, he leaned down to suckle at one perfect breast. She moaned softly, her nearly bare body arching into him. The feel of her skin against his made him crazy. The silk of his tie seemed to be a barrier, but it was one that he was not planning to remove. The sight of her in that green and silver made his hardness twitch in anticipation.

His tongue swirled circles against her skin as he moved down to her knickers. They were a lacy black pair that he was fairly certain he'd never seen before. "Are these new?" He grinned up at her, and she blushed. He loved that after six months in his bed, he could still bring that rose to her cheeks.

"I bought them this weekend."

"I love them," he told her. He dipped his attention back down to the hem, gripping it in his teeth. She squirmed beneath him as his fingers pulled at the sides of the cloth, and he began to slide it down her skin. He growled as her core was revealed to him, waiting for him to devour it. He moved more quickly then, pulling back onto his knees to remove her knickers over her heels.

As soon as they were gone, Hermione rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled towards him. "Take off your pants," she told him.

He frowned at her. "I wanted to-"

"Take them off," she cut into his words, and he obeyed. He pushed them down his legs and tossed them off the bed.

"Lay down," she said, her tone even and controlled.

"What are you-"

"Draco, just lay down," she said exasperated. "Let me be in charge for once. This is _my_ surprise." He snorted at her annoyance, but did as she had asked and readjusted on the bed so that he could lay down. Hermione kneeled beside him and ran her thumb along his lips. He kissed it softly. Her fingertips grazed down his neck, softly curving over his chest and stomach until they finally settled at his hard length beside her. He moaned in appreciation as she slid her hand up and down him.

"Your surprise is very nice," he told her, reaching to run his hand up her bare thigh and squeeze her bum.

"I know it is. _I'm_ not the one trying to ruin it." Draco chuckled at her, and she smirked at him before leaning her head down. Her tongue darted out to trail lazy circles around his head. His hand froze on her skin, gripping her thigh firmly as he let out a soft noise of approval. Hermione's hand fell down to the base of his shaft, allowing her to take him deeper in her mouth. The sensation of her, hot and wet around him made him moan openly.

"Fuck, Hermione," he sighed in appreciation. The things this witch did with her mouth were truly magical. She grinned around him as she slid her mouth up and down, her tongue swirling as she worked. She stopped to tease him every few seconds, licking him softly. He felt his body tensing, his groin tightening, and he pulled at her gently. "Babe, stop." Hermione pulled back, satisfaction clear on her lips. "You are brilliant," he told her.

"I know I am," she assured him, and then she was over him, his tip at her core, and she was teasing him again. She leaned forward to kiss him as she let him slide just barely inside of her, and then she stopped moving.

"You are beautiful and sexy, and I'm the luckiest man alive," he told her as he pulled at her hips, trying to convince her to move.

"Yes, you are," she agreed. His hips bucked, but she adjusted for his movement and kept him from burying inside of her.

"Hermione, stop," he pleaded.

"Say the magic word," she said softly and then laughed. He knew she couldn't help it. He didn't even care that she couldn't keep a straight face while she teased him. This was his beautiful woman. She was sexy and incredibly awkward about it and he loved every minute. He loved that she was trying to take control, trying to drive him absolutely crazy, and she was very much succeeding.

"Please, for fuck's sake, please," he begged, and she slid down on him hard as she pushed up on his chest. The sensation of her was perfection. The image of her above him, _in that bloody tie_ , her face full of emotion and satisfaction was even better. She bobbed on him, moving quickly, bouncing her body up and down in a rhythm that made him crazy, pulling him closer and closer to his release. From this angle, it was all too easy for him to move his hand between them, his thumb on the bundle of nerves that made her tremble atop him.

"Draco," she murmured as she moved, and he loved the sound of his name on her lips. "I'm, oh …" And then she was shuddering uncontrollably. He pulled her down to the bed, kissing her hard through the waves. When she was done, looking up at him with wide, satisfied eyes, he began to move, sliding inside of her again. He pumped quick and steady, his own release beginning after three short movements. She dug her nails into his back as he clenched his eyes shut and emptied inside of her.

"Fuck," he said again, rolling to his side. "You are amazing. I love you." The words slid out easily, and somewhere in his mind,he knew that he should be nervous. He probably shouldn't have said them after this, but he didn't care.

"I love you, too," she told him, and that voice instantly vanished.

XXX

It was Teddy's birthday again. They were there together on the sofa. She had her legs over his, and they were watching Teddy chase Victoire around the room. She had stolen the Viktor Krum doll that Ron had bought Teddy. The man had smirked at Draco as soon as the boy had opened it. Draco had glared back pointedly, unamused. They had run into Viktor at a game Harry, Ginny, Ron, Oliver, and Draco had drug Hermione to just last month, and Draco had not been amused by the way the man had held onto Hermione or the way his eyes drank her in. Ron had spent the rest of the night laughing about it.

Draco leaned over towards her, and Hermione met his lips with a sweet, soft kiss. He still had a hard time believing that this was his life now. He was in love with this woman, this brilliant, beautiful, muggleborn. "Let's take a walk," he suggested when the party had all but ended. The stragglers were close family who had shifted from celebrating Teddy to catching up. They wouldn't be missed.

"Okay." Hermione let him take her hand, and he led her out the door into the garden. They walked the stone path as they refused to let go of each other. When they reached the shed, Draco moved off the path to walk around the back where they wouldn't been seen from the house. He kissed her hard and she clung to him tightly. She let him push her back up against the shed as his hands roamed the skin under her shirt. His lips moved from hers to brush lightly against the sensitive skin below her ear. "You look so bloody good in this skirt."

"Draco, this is Teddy's birthday party," she reminded him.

"I don't care. It's basically over. Besides, you shouldn't have worn that damn skirt. You know what it does to me."

"Maybe I wore it on purpose," she suggested, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"You little minx," he growled.

"You love me," she replied.

"So much. I can't wait to get you home and rip this damn thing off of you," Draco told her. She moaned at the suggestion and pushed her hips back against him. "Fuck," he whispered harshly in her ear. "We're going to have to celebrate up against the door, and on the counter, and the floor, and the sofa, and maybe, eventually, we will make it to the bed." He kissed her with every new suggestion.

"Celebrate what?" she asked, her voice husky.

"We will have to practice for making our own little terrors that will need to have annoying birthday parties which you will no doubt insist I attend."

"What?" Hermione's voice was serious now, her shock apparent. They had never talked about this. She had hinted, tried to determine if he wanted children, but he always joked his way out of the topic by poking fun at their many, many experiences babysitting Teddy.

"If you're going to be my wife, we will have to have at least two of the horrible things. How could we deny the world such beautiful specimens? My good looks and your brains?" He pulled back just enough to see her face. Her mouth had fallen open, and her eyes were wide.

"Your... what?" she finally sputtered.

"My wife, of course." Draco repeated as he reached into his pocket, grabbing the loose ring waiting within.

"Oh my ..." Hermione watched his movement carefully, following the small circle as he moved it closer to her hand.

His other hand cupped her chin, pulling her face up to look at him. "Marry me," he said as he held her gaze.

"Yes," she replied as she felt the band slide down her finger, magically adjusting to her hand.

"I love you," he whispered, moving his lips back to her ear. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and pulled him against her as she cried softly.

"I love you, too," she choked out.

They stood there, against the shed, hiding, kissing softly, memorizing the moment for a long time. When Draco leaned in to whisper in her ear one last time,he felt her relax again. "I finally surprised you. I'm totally in charge tonight," he told her, his hand snaking up her thigh.

"Oh, Draco," she grumbled, slapping him away. She marched off back towards their friends and family, grinning as she heard him race to catch up behind her.

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A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this OS ! Please follow for more Dramione goodness as inspiration strikes.

XOXO

Meg


	2. The End of Us

**Oblivious Daydreaming**

A series of One Shots and Drabbles about Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

See each chapter for rating, summary, and anything else you might need to know.

 **oOoOo**

 **The End of Us**

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 **A Dramione One Shot** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated M** for Scenes of a Sexual Nature

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 **Summary:** The end of something beautiful.

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 **Disclaimer:** I am not profiting from this story. Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.

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 **Triggers:** Cheating

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 **Note:** This was on my account as two separate stories written many years ago. They are slightly polished and squashed together now in order to be moved to this Dramione OS/Drabble folder of my writing life. Enjoy.

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The End of Us

The home where they met sat easily sketched into the side of the hills so far from civilization that they rarely saw other people, let alone feared being caught. The home was a lonely and ancient cottage which Draco had found for the sole purpose of hiding their meetings from the watchful eyes of those who knew them. He had purchased it from the oldest son of the man who had lived in the cottage for sixty-three years before the elderly man was forced to move to London so that his son could keep a closer eye on him. Each morning he awoke inside the larger of the two rooms in the cottage to feel her heart beating against his chest, he was reminded of the look of longing that had consumed the old man as he had taken in the site of his cottage for the last time. Even at that time, Draco had sensed the man's emotions ran much deeper than for the bleached stone of the home, the wildflowers engulfing the terrain, and the lake which rested a ten-minute walk from the cottage. Time had proved him right.

When they were here, the pair of them were able to drop their frustrations, their worries, their loyalties, and devote themselves completely to each other. When they were here, the cottage wrapped them in a cocoon and made it seem like maybe, just maybe, what they were, what they did, what they lived was quite all right, quite acceptable, and not at all the horrible web of deception, lies, and treachery they knew it to be when they were living their real lives, the lives they lived when they were in Ministry Employees. The life in which she was part of The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where she astounded him by making progress with her efforts to better the lives of house-elves and other creatures she felt were misunderstood and underrepresented, and he worked in the International Magical Office of Law in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and hoped one day to join the Wizengamot and become Head of the Department. It was a difficult task to be sure after the embarrassment that the end of the war had cast upon his family, but he was quickly proving himself to be a sturdy asset and a good worker.

This morning, however, was unlike any other he had spent at the cottage with her. He felt the difference the moment he awoke. She had already left their bed, but this was nothing new. She often woke before him and lost herself in the scenery, a book, or making breakfast. But this morning when she was not there, he felt a shot of cold run through him and goose bumps form on his arms and legs. It took him a moment to orient his senses, and then he realized why her absence was bothering him.

Hermione had been distant the night before during dinner. Her smiles had been a little too broad, her laugh a little too loud, and her kiss a little too cold. He'd asked her about her strange behavior, but she had pushed away his insecurities by simply ignoring them and pulled him out of the house to walk down to the lake with her. Shortly after arriving home, she had shed him of his clothes as she pulled him towards their bedroom. It had been amazing, but something had been different. The passion and love were still there, but she had seemed desperate to cling on to him, to hold him, to feel him move inside her. And, then she had cried, silent tears that slid down her cheeks and onto the sheets and his chest as he clutched her to him, terrified of the cause.

Now, he did not know what to expect when he left this bed. Would he find the reason for her distance or her tears? Did he really want to know?

Knowing that it was futile to attempt to put off the inevitable, Draco slid from the bed slowly and pulled his jeans on from the night before. His button down shirt was missing, but he didn't have to think very hard about where it could be. She loved to wear his shirts in the morning, and he didn't mind at all. In fact, it made him feel like they were normal lovers for a single moment when he saw her in one. He moved to the attached bathroom then and took in the sight of their toiletries mixed on the counter and their towels hanging side by side on the rack right outside of the shower. Her brush was still in the sink, and he moved it away to brush his teeth as he stared into the mirror, still wondering what it was that she saw in him, what it was that kept her coming here to their cottage, and what she had been thinking about the night before as he held her and felt her tears falling onto his skin, burning him.

Sure enough, when he found her on the back porch, staring off in the direction of the lake, spinning something small around one of her fingers, she was wearing his blue shirt, buttoned loosely in two places and hiding just enough to make his fingers itch to take it off, but he knew that this was not the time. When she sensed him coming, Hermione turned to him and wrapped her hand around the object she had been spinning before holding it out to him without speaking. Before his eyes fell on it, he knew from the feel of the cold metal what it was. Nevertheless, he forced his eyes down and made them take in the gold circle crowned with three diamonds, the largest of which rested in the middle of the two smaller.

He had once strolled into a jewelry shop under the guise of browsing for his mother and thought about buying such a ring for her, and it had looked just like this one, it could have been the very ring he had imagined placing on her finger so many times for all he knew, but this ring was not from him. There was only one man who could have given this to her, a certain red head she happened to date in their real lives. The man they had both known was supposed to become her husband and be the father of her children, but that had been before this, before them. Somewhere in the deep recess of his mind, he had imagined that one day he could give her this ring, and they could stroll proudly down Diagon Alley together as she wore it, but now that day would never come, not that he had ever really expected it to.

"When did he give this to you?" Draco asked as he set the ring on the edge of her chair. Her eyes bore into his.

"Two nights ago. I said yes, naturally," she added, knowing that he would have asked her if she hadn't freely released the information. "You know what this means?" she asked him placing the ring in the pen pocket of the shirt she was wearing.

"No. What?" he asked, though he had a good idea what was coming.

She looked away again, out towards the lake again. "We have to stop this," she told him, though her voice barely carried to him.

"Right. I suppose it's okay to cheat on your boyfriend for four years, but once you get the ring it's wrong." He could hear the bitterness in his own voice, but he couldn't bring himself to care either that he was revealing so much of himself or that his words would hurt her.

Hermione didn't seem able to respond to that right away. She pushed herself up from the chair slowly and came to stand in front of him. She took in the sight of his tousled hair, bare chest, and his jeans. "I love you," she said, and it sounded not like an admission but more a realization. "I love you so much." She traced the outline of his face with her hand and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

"Marry me, then," he whispered, unable to resist. Who cared what people thought? Who cared if they had anyone else? He just needed her to be his, only his. "I love you. I have loved you for so long. Maybe we haven't been best friends for eleven years, but I know the sides of you that you hide from even him. I was the person you came to," he reminded her, "Me. Not him."

"That isn't fair." Her voice still seemed to fly away with the breeze as she spoke the words. "He had lost his brother," she told him weakly.

"But you were still here, you still needed someone." He brought her chin up with his hand and pressed his lips the sides of her mouth.

"I can't marry you," she said simply as their lips hovered a breath apart. "It's not the way things are supposed to end. You and I are not meant to be together. We are meant to part. We are meant to be with other people." He knew that this the unwritten rule of the arrangement, the think they avoided at all costs, but tonight he wasn't playing by the rules.

"Who gets to decide things like that?" he demanded.

She sighed softly against his mouth. "It's just the way it is. Ron and I ... we're ..." She faded out, apparently unable to articulate what she and Weasel were.

"So, basically what you are telling me is that you won't marry me because it wouldn't be what is expected of you." He drew out of their embrace and watched her in a new light. She was beautiful to him if not to most. Her hair was often out of control, but her brown eyes shone with such a passion that he could hardly resist drowning in them every time they flashed his way. Her lips were as vital to him as his own need for oxygen, and her body was never more beautiful than when it was draped with one of his shirts, showing just enough skin to remind him of what she was hiding, but, even so, he was starting to see what she was thinking, what she was trying to tell him. "You're giving up on actually having passionate love, because it isn't what everyone else wants, and here I thought I was supposed to be the closed minded pureblood." Draco didn't wait for a response. He simply left her on the porch and walked back in the cottage, through the kitchen to the hall and then their bedroom. He found a clean shirt in the closet and pulled it on as he heard her enter the room.

"I'll head back now. I'd appreciate it if you were gone by the morning. I'll have to sell this place if we won't need it anymore." He tried to ignore the fact that his chest was seizing, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

"Draco..." He winced at the lost tone of her voice, but he couldn't bear to let her pull him deeper into her. He was already losing his mind and if he had to listen to her talk about marrying Ron Weasley again, he would surely do something rash and horrific to her fiance that would end with him in front of the Wizengamot instead of seated amongst its members.

"You've said enough, Hermione." He told her as his fingers reached his wand. He spun on the spot, leaving nothing but a crack behind to jolt her into realizing what she had just done.

XXX

Hermione hadn't seen Draco for six months. The worst six months of her life by her calculations, but she knew that this was the way it was supposed to be. She had been tempted that first week to go to him and admit that she was being a fool, he was right, of course, she loved only him and would only love him for the rest of her days. They would have married, and she would have started a new life with him, but in the end, their love would have prevailed and nothing would have mattered.

Hermione choked on a sob that had tried to turn into laughter. She brought a perfectly manicured hand to her neck as she attempted to cough up the lump of fear that had positioned itself in her throat the moment she had opened her eyes that morning.

She had been tempted that first week, but never again, because she knew all too well that she did not love him and only him. She loved Ron, as well. Granted she loved them both in completely different ways with completely different parts of her heart, but she loved them both. If it had been only her love that mattered, then maybe the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle would not have red haired combed neatly, but instead soft gold wisps that fell into his eyes. The problem was that she very well knew it was not only her feelings that mattered.

Hermione knew that if she gave up Ron, she would be giving up her dearest friends and her soon to be family as well. She had already lost her parents to irreversible memory charms and Australia. She could never lose these people. She would surely break, which was why she was standing in front of the mirror, staring at it as if attempting to see past the cream-colored gown, the jewels, and the hair so soft it could hardly be hers, into her very soul. She was waiting, as she often did these days, waiting for the ballad that would announce her walk to him, to her fiance, soon to be husband.

Hermione had hoped, desperately, fervently, that her thoughts would be sorted. She had hoped that this day, the day of her wedding, would find her void of all care for the man she had left six months previous when she had accepted that ring, but it was not to be. She closed her eyes and felt his hands on her neck, her shoulders, and finally resting on her waist as his lips pressed into the skin beneath her ear, whispering into her very heart as it beat so wildly she feared it might burst. She forced herself to look into the mirror to prove he wasn't there behind her.

She knew where he was. She knew exactly where he was at this very moment because Ginny had come swearing into the room declaring her displeasure at his presence. Ginny had no idea what had transgressed between the bride and Draco Malfoy in the four years before she had accepted Ron's proposal. Hermione had tried to ask inconspicuously who he had brought with him but feared that her future sister-in-law had heard the tremor carried under her voice. It had been with a bash over the head that she received the news, he was with Astoria Greengrass, the woman his parents had been after him to marry for nearly two years. She was apparently sporting an addition to her own left hand rather proudly. At this news, she had informed Ginny she needed these last few minutes to herself to collect her thoughts, and her friend had left with a suspicious glance and a click of the door sealing behind her.

She had added him to the list of invitees at Harry's request with deep reluctance. What if he made a scene? What if she did? What if he couldn't keep his eyes away from her? What if she couldn't? What if he looked a little too longingly at her? What if she cast the same look at him? Could she trust herself to see him after six months on the day of her wedding of all days? Was she ready to really put him behind her?

Her thoughts moved to the cottage they had half lived in together and the visit she had paid to it the week before. Her fingers had trailed over every surface of the house she could reach, longing to freeze the feeling of them into her mind. She had been expecting the home to be empty, void of any signs of life, but was startled to see obvious indications that he still visited. There was a supply of food in the cupboards and fresh juice in the fridge. She had expected a coat of dust, but the counters and tables were clean and some even adorned with the wildflowers she had loved to pick to decorate the table for their breakfast. There was a blanket lazily lying on the couch and an empty wine glass on the end table next to an empty bottle. The bed was made, but a shirt was laid out on the pillow that had been hers.

It was his shirt. She knew this instantly. Even after all these months, she knew it was the shirt she had left there on the bed waiting for him to return. She moved to touch it and then brought it to her face, inhaling the scent. She was surprised to find her perfume still lingering with his cologne. She set it back on the bed as tears, those that had threatened her from the moment her eyes met the sight of the cottage, began to fall down her cheeks silently.

She entered their bathroom and opened the cupboards there as well. Her things still mixed with his, but they had not been touched, whereas his had moved and some replaced.

She found her way to the porch, nearly blind from the tears, and sank into the chair she had been sitting in that morning she had told him of her engagement. She wiped her eyes and took in the sights around her, absorbing them all for the last time, and then she had suddenly felt gripped by the desire to let him know that she had been there. He must know that she still thought about him. After their time apart, their passion seemed just as real as it had for four beautiful, tragic years, so she made her way into the kitchen once more and found a piece of parchment and a quill. There were a few empty ink bottles and one nearly empty one that she used to scrawl a note to him. She put it on the table next to the wildflowers and thought for a fleeting moment about staying until he arrived, but she had too much work to do for the wedding and could hardly trust herself to leave if she saw him again in this home that had born witness to their love so many times.

As she looked at herself now in the mirror in the church she would be married in, she couldn't help but let herself wonder whether she was making the wrong choice. It surprised her that she found her heart telling her she had, but she knew it was too late now. She couldn't walk away from her own wedding. Not to a man so good and loving as the one waiting for her. She turned as the door opened again to reveal Ginny, beaming, and Harry, looking a bit sick, but happy. She knew without either of them speaking that it was time, and she moved towards them, taking Harry's arm as Ginny offered her a bouquet of lilies to rest in her other arm.

The music began, filling the church with such a powerful hum that she hardly believed the old stone wasn't crumbling around them. She listened to the sound as Harry began to talk. He talked of his disbelief and his joy, and she kissed his cheek to reassure him. He spoke one last time to tell her that he loved her, his best friend, his sister, and as the music changed, the pair of them began their walk up the aisle.

Hermione caught sight of Draco immediately as he stood with the rest of the guests, watching her with eyes that could see into her soul the way her own could not. He never broke his gaze from her and she found herself watching him even as she listened to the vows she exchanged with Ron.

It seemed that he had burned the words, her words, into her brain, and she could think of nothing but the scratch of her quill against the parchment as she wrote them. Now, she saw them etched into the lines on his face and hidden in his eyes. 'I could never have said enough.' She had told him, and in this moment, this moment of deepest longing for his hand on hers, she knew that she would never, as long as she lived, write, speak, or think a truer thought.

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A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this Dramione! Follow for more OS and Drabbles as inspiration strikes!

XOXO

Meg


	3. Captive

**Oblivious Daydreaming**

A series of One Shots and Drabbles about Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

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 **Captive**

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 **A Dramione Drabble** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated T**

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You seem to be one of my Dramione readers, so please go to my tumblr (goldensnitch-18) and find a letter I wrote for you. You can scroll down a couple posts to find it or just search the tag Love Letter on my blog.

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Draco slipped down the hallway, silent as it was possible to be. His father should be too drunk to be aware of anything by now, and his mother would be in bed, avoiding her husband. The rest of the house would be silent except for the guards posted at the doors. It was a precaution only. Their wards should keep anything out, not that they were expecting anyone.

The first few months, he had been sure they would come. Someone had to come. After the first few weeks, he was prepared to do whatever it took to help them when they did, even if it meant he was left behind or killed, which may be better in the end. She would hate it if he said that.

For the last month, he had been trying desperately to figure out how to help her escape. If he had his wand, it wouldn't be an issue, but Harry Potter had grabbed it when he and the others had escaped with that House Elf. His father had grabbed Granger, and they were stuck with a Mudblood and nothing else to give the Dark Lord. When he had arrived, he had been furious. All three of the Malfoy's had been tortured. He was sure others had as well, but he didn't care about them. He had only cared about his family, and now he only cared about her.

The Dark Lord had ordered them to keep her alive "just in case." The thought of those words, spoken slowly and with thick disdain, sent shivers down his spine. She would be killed as soon as the Dark Lord had Potter. Draco was very aware of this. He had known it from that very moment, yet he had decided to go down to see her that first night anyway, and the next, and the next. It had been slow for her. He knew that, but it had been quick for him.

He had been disillusioned by his Lord long before Hermione Granger was screaming on the floor under his Aunt's blade. He didn't know why he had crept down the stairs to see her, but he had. He did it, and then he was lost. He was lost in her goodness, in her sureness that Harry Potter would save them. She was confident in him. She loved him in a way that more pure and good than anything Draco had experienced, and he was jealous.

His jealousy burned inside of him, igniting each cell in his body, pushing him forward as he told her more and more about his life, about his captivity here in the manor, about his family's failures, about falling in and out of love with power. She was hesitant in the beginning. She gave short answers, shared nothing he didn't already know, but slowly, she began to let her face slip into true emotions, let her words cast truth and deeper meaning. Slowly she let him in, and then she fell alongside him, and they were mutually doomed, sure to be a tragedy of war.

As he reached the cell, he heard her movement, a shift in the dark, and then she was at the bars, her face split with a smile. "Draco," she murmured as her fingers wrapped with his. What would he give to be able to open the cage she was locked in? Perhaps the questions should be, what wouldn't he give? He couldn't think of a single thing. Every night when he arrived, when she smiled, he felt the constant weight in his chest lift for a single moment, and the same question ran through his mind.

What if we survive this?

But, that was a fairy tale, and this was a tragedy. There was no way Potter would defeat the Dark Lord. No way she would be allowed to survive. They both knew this, but they would never let the words slip past their lips because it was too painful to admit that they had found each other just in time to never be able to truly have one another.


	4. The Enchantress

**Rating: M**

 **Synopsis:** It was just a little curse meant to punish those who wronged her. She never expected to regret it. She never expected it to end like this.

 **Prompt** : Beauty and the Beast  
 **Author's Note:** I hope you enjoy this spin on a classic tale. It was written for the Strictly Dramione Movie Fest. Also, a general apology that I am terrible and haven't updated. I promise I am slowly writing. I'm just extremely overwhelmed in my life!

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As Draco gripped the balcony tightly, overlooking the forest with disdain, he felt his fur recede, vanishing to reveal clean, beautiful, human skin. He didn't even blink. The first time it had happened, the first time she had come to see him, removed the curse, he had attacked her, threatening to murder her with his bare hands, but he had learned. He had learned so much from his little enchantress, most importantly how much she liked her little games.

"Hello," he greeted, though she hadn't made a sound. She was there, behind him. He was sure of it. She was the only one capable of ending the curse, turning him from Beast to Man.

"You tricked a girl into the manor. Are you planning to force her to fall in love with you?" He felt the gentle caress of her fingers down his back and the rush of uncontrollable sensations that racked his body in response. She knew how sensitive he was after she changed him back. She loved to play with him, punish him for something he hardly even understood at this point.

"I believe that was the only option you gave me, or my staff will be stuck like this forever." Even in his human form, his voice still carried a growl, or perhaps that was just from speaking to her. He wouldn't know. She was the only one to have seen him this way in years, the only one who really knew him anymore.

"Would it really be so terrible?" she whispered, and her breath was hot against his shoulder.

He turned to face her and was struck by her appearance as always. She had been an old beggar woman that night, the night she ruined his life and the lives of all who had been present, but she had shifted, transformed back into this, into her true self. She was beautiful, sure. Her cheeks were red as roses, her brown hair falling down in loose curls, her body curving in all the right places, but that wasn't what hit him every single time he saw her. It was her power, her magic.

He had magic, of course. He was born with it, born into one of the oldest magical families actually, his blood as pure as freshly falling snow, but this girl, woman now, had changed all of that. Her abilities went far above anything he had ever seen or heard of before. He had fought her spells tirelessly, searching for an answer, for a way to change everything back, but it was a fruitless search, one he had long given up on.

"I want my life back," he told her, doing everything in his power to hold in the fury that bubbled to the surface whenever she was around.

"Then your father and his friends shouldn't have ruined mine," she said, words dripping with poisonous honey.

"You don't seem to have suffered from your lack of education." That was what this was all about, of course. His father and the other governors had refused her just as they refused all the others, and for some insane reason, she had believed that he could do something about it, help her change it all. The idea was utter madness. This was the way it had always been. The old families sent their children to be educated with other students of pure blood. To mingle with a commoner such as his enchantress, no matter her power, was unacceptable.

"I found my own ways of educating myself," she agreed. "Do you think she's pretty?"

It took him nearly a full minute to realize she was talking about the Weasley girl. He had barely given the girl half a thought since she had refused to eat dinner with him. There was something wrong with that entire family. They were pure of blood - apparently, though he had his doubts - but they lived in a hovel and mingled with the common folk as often as they could. The entire lot were a disgrace to magic, his father had told him so many times as he was growing up. Tonight had been the first time he had met the girl. He couldn't really remember her name, but she was pretty.

"You know that she is," he told her, attempting to avoid whatever trap she had been trying to lay for him.

"They say she is the most beautiful girl in the village." As she spoke, she took a step forward, and his back hit the railing. Her hand moved up his chest, sending tremors dancing through his body.

"I imagine she is then," he told her.

Her head shifted, her eyes meeting his, bright with the fire that burned inside of her. "I suppose she will make a decent match for you then."

He could feel his trousers, taut against his erection as she leaned into him, her lips a hair from his. She was the reason he was here, stuck in this place, never truly human except when she came to play with him, never truly a beast. She had tasked him with falling in love and earning love in return, but the closest he had ever gotten was the mix lust and anger she sent shattering throughout his body on these little visits.

"You don't play fair," he told her.

"I never promised to." She smirked, and he was done. Hands buried in her curls, he pulled her hard towards him as he claimed her lips. The kiss was unforgiving, unyielding with both of them fighting for the upper hand, hesitant to give an inch. Her own hands snaked up his body and into his long blond hair dragging him down deeper into her. She was insane. She had to be, but then, what was he because he was pushing her back to his bedroom, fuck love, fuck the curse. His cock was aching, and it was entirely her fault, her ache to relieve if she was only willing, and she seemed very willing.

Her dress was entirely too complicated for his state of mind, so he resorted to his magic, popping the lace and buttons with a word growled into her mouth. The magic seemed to encourage her, making her even more fierce in her desire to rip every article of clothing he had on off before they hit the bed. She succeeded.

They were both nude by the time he threw her back. She smiled widely and moved to her knees, refusing to stay down. "I think you would look quite pretty on your back, Draco," she told him.

His damn betraying cock twitched at her words, sealing his fate. He crawled up onto the bed and flopped onto his back as if it had been his plan all along to let her ride him. Honestly, it didn't seem like such a horrible prospect as she licked her lips and ran her hands down his legs, moving closer.

It seemed to take a lifetime for her to plant one knee on either side of his hips, and even then, she lingered, taking her sweet fucking time, controlling everything. She took his hand and placed it at her heat, burying his fingers in the pool gathered there.

"Fuck," he murmured, his hips rocking up, cock sliding up her hip. "Fuck," he repeated as she began to ride his fingers. She was the fucking worst, Merlin's fucking balls the worst, and he wanted her so fucking bad he could think straight, and she knew. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, how she was killing him slowly with each thrust that didn't land on his cock. "I hate you," he told her finally, and she laughed.

She was still laughing when she pushed his fingers away. The look of pure fucking bliss on her face as she felt his tip and slowly slid down his shaft made it all worth it, every moment, everything. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She was crazy, sure, but this was everything.

Never before had they been pushed so far. So often they were so close, standing at the edge of the cliff refusing to dive, but tonight was different. Tonight they had snapped, driven into the jump by something …

He tried to figure out what it was that had changed their dynamic, pushed them to this, but she was hot and wet and tight around his cock. She was making the most incredible sounds as she rode him, her bare breasts bouncing freely as she moaned. He gripped her skin, trying to urge her to go faster, but she did her best to keep her steady rhythm. She was intoxicating. He was drunk on the feel of her wrapped around him, on the sound of her quick, deep breaths, on the image of her hair stuck to her forehead by her sweat. He knew it was wrong.

He knew he was damning his entire house with each thrust into her, with each moment he let himself look into her eyes, see something burning there, see something entirely unlike her staring back. He looked back furiously, hoping that his eyes could ask her every question he never had been able to utter. She broke the connection first, blocking her eyes as she leaned down to kiss his shoulder. He wrapped his hands around her back, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her flesh as they both shuddered with release. She lay atop him, not moving, her body hot and sweaty against his, the scent of sex filling the room. He closed his eyes against the dark ceiling, moving his hand up to get lost in her hair.

"Hermione," he whispered into her ear. He felt her shake against him, and he wondered if she was crying.

She moved, keeping her face turned as she rolled away from him. "I hope you will be happy with her," she told him as she pulled at her dress.

"With who?" he asked, stupidly, until he realized she meant the damn Weasley girl. That girl who had traded places with her father, that girl who the staff were trying to get him to romance. That girl who couldn't possibly hold a flame to his chaotic enchantress.

He couldn't be sure in the dark, but he thought he saw her wipe at her face as something rolled down her cheek, and he wasn't sure if he should ignore it or mention it. He didn't want to overthink it, to let his mind create something that wasn't there, but …

"She'll help you break the spell. I know she will," Hermione whispered, and then she was gone, leaving a crack in her wake. Draco felt the change begin immediately, the tiny hairs across his skin growing thicker and darker as they returned, covering his body in fur. His arms and legs grew, his face would be unrecognizable in less than a minute. He closed his eyes, waiting for the change to end.

XXX

He could feel himself falling, exhaustion and pain taking over each cell in his mangled body. He would die a beast, betraying his people, condemning them to this life for an eternity. He wondered what would happen to Ginny and her family. She truly had been kind to him. He had tried, tried to love her, to earn her love in return, but he had known it wouldn't happen, that it wasn't meant to happen, because he was a fool.

It wasn't Ginny whose face he ached to see as he fell, as feeling seeped away limb by limb. Someway, somehow, he had stopped seeing her as the enchantress who entrapped him and started to see her as Hermione, as his. He could feel her brown hair in his fingertips, remembered the feeling of her skin on his one last time. Laughable, really, that he would fall in love with her, the low born witch who had ruined his life, taken it from him, destroyed everything he was supposed to be.

Where was she? What was she doing? He hoped she was far away. The people from the village were on a rampage, destroying his house, out for blood from the Beast. If they realized, if someone said something about her, there was nothing to stop them from going after her, the woman who created this vile Beast so close to their village. He knew they would wonder what would stop her from turning them all to monsters, from punishing every last one of them for her pain.

He heard a scream, sharp and clear, and then everything went black.

XXX

She screamed. The sound was hard and high, shattering, reflecting the shattering of something she had never taken the time to admit was there. He was falling, and she was so far away, and so she screamed, her mind blank, her magic fleeing in the moment she needed it most. And, so, she ran. Her feet beating against the stone floors, her mind ignoring each and every battle around her.

None of that mattered.

He was falling.

Where was the stupid girl? The beautiful girl who was supposed to break the spell? She had seen him dancing with her, seen him give her his mirror, the mirror she herself had given to him, so why wasn't the girl here? Could she possibly not return his feelings? Or, not know what he felt?

She couldn't break the spell on her own. She had tried. So many times she had tried, hoping to release him, to free him from the pain she caused the people inside the castle. She had been out of her mind that day, determined to punish the people who had deemed her less than by taking one of their own and turning him into something they would consider even worse than her, the low born witch who didn't deserve an education.

The only problem with that had been when she had slowly realized that there was something different about Draco. He was someone who did not deserve her curse, and so she had begun to try to reverse it, to turn him and his household back into the humans they had once been. Every attempt was fleeting, each one fading when she left his side, returning him back to the beast she had created. She was positive that he thought she was toying with him, turning him back and forth to play with him, torture him that much more, but it wasn't true. She had done everything, tried everything, but the curse was too strong, the only remedy the one thing she couldn't create with her magic. She couldn't bare to tell him the truth about her attempts. She preferred he think the worst of her, hold out hope that she could reverse it if she wanted, than have him realize what she had really condemned him to.

Hermione flew through the halls, dodging humans, wardrobes, brooms, and stone. It was a blur, none of it mattered. She needed to get to him, to the balcony where he had fallen. That idiot from the village had gotten to him. She had seen the blood spreading across his clothes as he fell. She needed the girl, but she didn't know where she was. The girl surely loved him. She had seen her smiling, seen her moving swiftly across the dance floor with him, matching each step of his.

Finally, she reached his room, running out to the balcony. The girl was there, crying over him, her body shaking as blood seeped into the stones.

"No!" Hermione screamed.

Ginny looked up, startled, her face streaked with tears. "Help him!"

"I don't …" Hermione fell to her knees, not caring about the pain that shot through them as she moved to his other side. "I can't …" She put her hands over his chest, trying something, anything that would come to mind, but her magic wasn't responding, it wouldn't work.

"You did this to him!" Ginny shouted. "You did this! Save him!"

"I …" Hermione sobbed, her throat constricting. "Why isn't he human? I saw you … you … dancing."

Ginny stared at her, eyes hollow, shaking her head. "He doesn't love me. He never has. I … I don't know … I think there is someone, but … I don't know who."

Hermione stared at her, her heart shattering as the girl she had put all of her hope in admitted that she wasn't going to be able to save him. "Draco …" she said his name through her tears. His chest rose sneakily beneath her fingers, but his eyes were closed, his life obviously fleeing his body. "Please don't leave me," she whispered. She saw the girl's mouth open across from her, her head turning from the dying Beast to the Enchantress who had cursed him, but she ignored her.

Instead, she put her hand to his cheek, trying not to look at the blood her fingers left behind. "Draco … I … I'm so sorry. I tried … everything … I never … I'm so sorry … I just … I love you and … I just wanted to turn you back … for years, but I couldn't and I'm so sorry." She collapsed, not caring that the stupid girl was across from her, or that he was covered in blood, she put her face to his, kissing him softly, salty tears mixing with the rain. "I love you," she said again, and she felt his chest shudder one final time without rising again.

She was shaking uncontrollably then, her fingers digging into the remains of his clothes, her face buried in his shoulder. She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on her back, the Weasley girl trying to comfort her, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He was dead, and it was her fault. She had turned him into this, made him a Beast, made the village fear him.

She felt the shaking then and was sure somehow the house was collapsing. The fighting must have escalated. She clung closer to him, not caring what happened now, lost in her grief. It took her a few more moments to realize that the body beneath her was shaking, but nothing else was. The girl was pulling her back, saying her name.

Hermione let her, opening her eyes to see what was happening to him, terrified of what other horrors she would have to endure as punishment for her stupid curse. He was shaking, his body seizing on the floor. He had been dead. She had felt him stop breathing, but as she watched, the transformation she had witnessed countless times before began again. She watched as his fur receded, his face changed, his blonde hair returning, his body shrinking to the size of a normal man. He stopped shaking as suddenly as he had begun, and she gasped as his eyes opened.

"Draco," she whispered.

He turned to face her, and she choked on the sob caught in her throat.

"Hermione," he whispered back, his voice weak.

"I ... you were dead," she told him.

"I guess I'm not done with you yet," he replied, wincing.

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I tried to …"

"I know." He moved his hand slowly, reaching it up behind her ear and into her hair and pulled her face down, kissing her softly. "I know," he said again.

"I'll go find some … help," Ginny told them,excusing herself from their side.

"I thought it was her," Hermione told him. "I didn't want it to be, but I thought …"

"It was always you," Draco said, "From the beginning, it was never going to be anyone but you."


	5. Christmas with the Potters

**Christmas with the Potters**

oOoOo

 **A Scorose One Shot** by **Goldensnitch18**

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 **Rated M**

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 **Summary:** Pansy has married Harry Potter, and Draco is spending the holidays with them and Potter's best friend, Hermione Granger. He's going to need a lot of Firewhisky and a little bit of luck to survive.

oOoOoA

 **Beta Magic:** Many thanks to **OblivionBaby** for your time. I lovvvvve you.

oOoOo

 **Dedication:** Wishing a very happy birthday to my sister in law, Hellafun. I hope that today is beautiful and that this story brings a little joy to your day.

Everyone on the street wore layers upon layers, guarding themselves as much as possible from the sort of cold that burned when it touched your skin—everyone, that is, except one well tailored man walking with purpose through the crowd. He wore thick, textured, black gloves that favored leather but seemed to have small, shining scales peppering the surface. His coat, customized for his precise measurements and adorned with a silk scarf, moved with his body as if part of his skin. His blonde hair blew in the biting breeze as he took one measured step after another, the snap of his black leather shoes hitting the stones following behind him.

Without acknowledging another person along the way, the man slipped into an alley in which he did not belong. With a crack and a turn, he vanished without arousing the suspicion of a single clueless Muggle. They saw what they wanted to see, not wanting to know a man might vanish in the streets of London and appear hundreds of miles away outside a cottage covered in snow.

A man leaned against the porch railing; his messy black hair, falling around his head without purpose. "You look like an ass." He held a cigarette between his fingers as he looked at the blonde from sharp green eyes behind black rectangular frames.

"Some of us have to work, Potter," he sneered back. He pulled free his hands from the dragonhide gloves, folding them before placing them in his pockets.

"I work," Harry shrugged.

"Oh, yes, raising up the next generation of little heroes."

The burgundy door of the cottage opened, and a beautiful woman with long black hair and crimson lips stood there, glass of wine in hand. "Are you two already fighting?"

"Only saying hello, Pans," Potter told her. She rolled her eyes and glared at her husband.

"You told me you're quitting," she chided.

Harry shrugged, staring out at the vast snow beyond the house. Harry and Pansy bought it six months ago when they married in secret over summer holidays after screwing around at Hogwarts for two years prior. The revelation did not shock Draco, nor the news of the isolated house with excessive land far away from neighbors.

"Do you have anything stronger than that?" Draco asked, motioning to her glass.

"Of course, I do. The princess is coming."

"Don't be a bitch," Harry called after her as Pansy disappeared into the house, ignoring him.

Draco followed her, shutting the door as he entered. His coat slipped off in a fluid motion, and he hung it in the small closet by the front door before slipping off his shoes. Despite the location being a perfect fit, Pansy agreeing to live in such a small home surprised Draco. The cottage held three bedrooms; a small suite on the main floor and two smaller rooms up a set of stairs. Draco was sure the entire house would fit in her former rooms at the Parkinson's, making it a far cry from what his friend was used to.

"I put your things in your room," she told him when he entered the kitchen as she poured firewhisky into a small glass.

"I can stay at home and come back in the morning," he told her.

"I'll murder you myself if you try. She's only in the country for three days, and she's spending them all here. Maybe I should kill myself instead." Pansy took a long pull of her wine.

"Maybe you shouldn't have married Potter, and you wouldn't have to spend your holidays with her."

"I like his cock," she snapped, and he ignored her, drinking whiskey instead. He would need it. Three days in this house with Potter, Pansy, and _her_ would likely kill him.

"And, Weasley?" Draco asked.

"He'll be here tomorrow night. Christmas with his family, of course."

"Are you going over there?"

"Harry wants me to for a little while, but I don't really see the point of going only to be reminded I stole him away."

"They weren't together," Draco reminded her for the hundredth time. As easy as he accepted their elopement, others struggled with the news. Potter broke his relationship off with the female Weasley with an assumption they would get back together after some time apart.Unfortunately for Ginny, Pansy taught Ancient Runes that year, and McGonagall had appointed Potter to help her adjust to the new position, which evidently included fucking and falling in love with her as they bonded over their dark and twisty natures.

"They're meant to be," Pansy took another sip of wine.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Draco asked her, but she only shrugged as Potter rounded the corner into the kitchen. He moved towards Pansy as if drawn to her, his hand falling to her lower back as his other lifted the firewhisky to pour his own glass.

"Please, don't stop talking on my account," he told the pair.

"You shouldn't try to make me go spend Christmas with your ex-girlfriend."

"I'm not stupid enough to imagine I'd ever be able to make you do anything. I _asked_ you to go visit with me."

Pansy rolled her eyes and lifted her glass again. Draco felt sure her insecurities were playing with her mind, trusting nothing good would last, wondering deep down how Harry Potter would ever want someone as fucked up as Pansy when he could have a real family that loved and doted on him for once in his life instead.

As one of his only remaining friends from before, Pansy remained family. He had had a choice but to get over the past with Potter. They had done this throughout an evening of excessive drinking and sharing which they had never spoken of again. Draco hoped Potter had sense enough not to tell Pansy about what he had said that night, what he had apologized for.

"Hello?"

Three heads turned towards the door. Harry headed back into the living room, followed by Pansy making a face behind his back.

Draco carried his whiskey into the room and stopped to lean against the doorway. Hermione Granger stood in the entry way, her arms tight around Potter's neck as they embraced.

"Missed you," she told him.

"Always," he said back.

As she pulled back from him, she tugged at her gray gloves, removing them from her hands before unwrapping her matching scarf. She shook her hair which fell down around her shoulders, frizzing out madly from being restrained under a hat. Harry took her things and moved over to the closet to grab a hanger as she removed her coat. She wore jeans and a black jumper, a bit of a burgundy showing from beneath it.

"Hey, Pansy," Hermione said, her smile highlighting her rosy, wind chapped cheeks. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"Of course," Pansy told her, smiling back a top rate fake-genuine smile. She had been trained so well; her mother would be proud.

"How was your trip?" Harry asked. He waved his wand at her bags, and they vanished, presumably to the third bedroom.

"Good. I'm glad to be here," she told him.

"Can I get you a drink?" Pansy asked, lifting her own glass. Hermione looked over at Draco for the first time, eyeing his glass.

"Sure. I'll take some firewhisky."

"I'll get it," Draco told them, turning back into the kitchen. Rummaging through the cupboards as the sounds of chatter drifted in from the other room, he found a glass and poured the amber liquid. He stood in the kitchen for a few seconds, realizing how ridiculous this day never could have imagined spending a holiday like this.

XXX

He tried to settle, to find a good spot in the bed, to not think about the rest of the house, but it proved impossible. Each moment seemed to last a century. It had been a long day before he had even arrived at the cottage, and the dynamic the four of them created exhausted him, and left him on guard, always triple checking every word before it left his mouth.

Finally, he gave up staying in bed, instead, pacing the floor, moving from side to side as he waited. He was so damn tired of waiting. Twenty long days had passed since the weekend in Spain. He had snuck out of London for an extended weekend. They had spent nearly every moment naked in her bed, trying to imprint as many memories as possible to tide them over, but it was never enough.

Hermione Granger existed to be his sweet, disastrous addiction. Chances were that she would be the death of him somehow, but for now, he enjoyed the high she gave him with each touch of her fingers and graze of her lips against his.

It started in the spring. Pansy insisted they all go out for her birthday. Harry insisted it be somewhere Muggle, so it didn't end up in the _Prophet_. Somehow a large group of their friends ended up visiting Spain—and Hermione—over the Hogwarts break. The trip was fine. Draco stayed in a hotel his parents had taken him to before, working in the room most of the weekend. He extended the trip into the week in to visit a few investments while already in the country. Once their friends left, Hermione demanded that he eat dinner with her Monday evening as if he would starve otherwise. He went to her flat in Seville, and she prepared pasta and salad.

"Thank you," he told her as they cleared the table. "This was good."

"I hate cooking, so don't get used to it," she teased. He looked up at her, trying not to let the fleeting fantasies of a lonely, hardworking, single man who needed to go home show on his face.

"We could always get takeout," his stupid mouth said, betraying the inkling of himself that had been, for months now, acknowledging that Hermione Granger was an intelligent, pretty woman—the type of woman he would ask out in a heartbeat if things were different.

Hermione grabbed the cloth beside the counter, drying her hands. He watched carefully, not sure if he should leave now, if he had destroyed the tentative friendship they formed as a result of their best friends' relationship. She set down the cloth before turning back to him, leaning against the counter. "So, dinner again tomorrow?" she asked.

Draco eyed her carefully considering his options, weighing the probability that she would slap him if he stepped wrong. He took a step towards her. She unconsciously scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, and he stopped caring about probabilities. He was one-hundred percent sure that tasting her would be worth any repercussions she may dish out if he had misunderstood.

He took another step, just inches from her, and she reached out with one hand, resting her fingers and then her palm against his chest. He thought for a moment she would push him away, but her fingers twisted, gripping his cashmere sweater as she pulled. One hand started at her hip, climbing up under her shirt to touch the warm skin of her lower back as the other settled at the back of her neck, bringing her closer. She tasted like red wine and everything his life had been missing until this moment.

"How about I cook you breakfast?" he asked. From that moment on, he had never stopped kissing her as often as she, and their schedules, would let him.

It wasn't that they were lying about it. It was just that no one had ever asked if they were together, and thus they never had a reason to answer the question. It would be a nightmare when the press got wind of it, not to mention how their friends might take it, but Draco's give-a-damn was quickly disappearing.

Finally, when he was about to go find Hermione himself, the bedroom door opened. She was there in front of him, grinning stupidly like a teenager sneaking out. Draco crossed the floor between them as the door clicked, and she met him in a greedy kiss. He let his hungry hands roam her body through the silky fabric, wishing for it to be gone already. "I almost jumped you on the couch," he told her.

"I missed you so much," she agreed as he lifted her and backed towards the bed. She was kissing his neck, her breath hot against his skin. His cock was growing hard, desperate for her.

"Hermione," he whispered, and she let out a soft sound of satisfaction at the sound of her name on his lips. They fell back onto the bed, and she shifted to settle a knee to each side of him. She pulled at the ties of her dressing gown, but Draco pushed her hands away to do it himself. He almost came just from the vision of her naked flesh underneath. It had been three torturous weeks since she last graced him with this perfect sight. "Fuck. You're beautiful," he told her.

She dipped down to kiss him, but he saw the embarrassment rising in her cheeks. He pushed the cloth down her arms as she kissed him. She undressed him then, starting with his shirt and rushing his pants and trousers down to the floor. He felt her move back in place, and this time, she was bare against him. His cock settled in next to her thigh, itching to burrow inside if her. She wrapped him in her hand, stroking him several times before she pushed up on her knees, positioned him beneath her and sank down with a long, slow dip of her thighs to the bed.

"Draco," she mumbled, and a hand moved to her breast, tweaking her nipple. He watched in fascination as she played with her body as she rode him. Her second hand dipped between them, her fingers on her clit. It took all of his willpower not to put his hands on her hips and guide her into a quicker tempo. It was her turn to lead the show—she had made that clear—so he palmed her ass and thighs instead, moving them across her skin, just glad to have her close to him again.

She made soft noises as she moved, no doubt enjoying the steady rhythm her fingers were keeping as she tortured him with painfully slow movements along his cock. The sensation was incredible. There was no where else in the world he would rather be than under Hermione Granger when she was naked and dancing on his cock. There was nothing more amazing than the pure bliss he would experience when they finished, and she was in his arms, spent. She would settle her palm on his chest, kiss him, and drift to sleep in his arms, and he would stay awake as long as he could wondering how in the fuck he had ever fixed his life so much that Hermione would allow him to speak to her, let alone fall in love with her.

He hadn't told her, though he suspected she knew, but he'd never said the words, not when she was awake, not when she could hear them. He practiced in the dead of night while she slept, the world was dark, and he could be vulnerable for just a few moments.

"I love you," he would whisper, just once, just to hear the words leave his lips, just to know he was capable of them. It needed to be special when he told her. It needed to be clear how much he was telling her, what he was giving her.

XXX

"Happy Christmas," Ron told her. Hermione hugged him tight, and Draco saw his lips touch her cheek for the briefest moment. It was nothing.

They had both moved on years ago, but Ron had been her first. Ron had been there when Draco was a dick in school, and when they were fighting the war, and when she was putting her life back together afterwards. When she said she thought she wanted to travel, to experience creature rights in different places around the world, Ron encouraged her, sure she would be brilliant. But all of that must still mean something to her. Even if it no longer remained a romantic link, a whole life together wasn't something you just set aside when you break up. But, Draco couldn't talk because the girl he lost his virginity to was currently married to Harry Potter.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Hermione told him.

"Drink, Weasley?" Draco asked. He thought he might be starting to act like a drunk, but alcohol was needed for tonight. He couldn't remember any longer why he had agreed to this madness. The evenings guests were all old friends from school, but that was worse than some large nonsense at the Ministry. Too many connections in one house.

"Sure. Firewhisky?" he asked.

"Got it," Draco told him, and disappeared into the kitchen. Daphne was sitting on the counter, a glass in her hands.

"How did we get here, Draco?" she asked. Christmas with the damn Gryffindor heroes.

"It's Pansy's fault," he assured her.

"Touche." She sipped at the red liquid and then tilted her head as if thinking. Draco poured Weasley's whiskey. "Draco?"

"What?" he asked.

"What do you think of Neville? I've been trying to figure out if he's fit as fuck under all that tweed and corduroy, or if I'm mad." She sighed as if imagining Neville's fit ass, and Draco grimaced.

"You're mad," he told her.

"I'll ask Hermione. Maybe she's seen him without all that Professor shit on." Daphne waggled her eyebrows, and Draco tried not to glower as he left the room with the two glasses.

"Here," he told Weasley, pushing the drink at him.

"You seem happy, Malfoy," Ron commented as he took it.

"I was just asked if I think Neville Longbottom is fit as fuck." Draco took a long pull of his drink as Hermione laughed—snorted—beside him.

"Well," she asked, "what did you say?"

"I think he better keep his tweed and corduroy on when I'm around."

"Can't stop dreaming about him either?" Daphne asked, appearing behind him.

"Oh, great."

"So, what do you think Hermione?" Daphne settled in next to the other woman and tilted her head again, this time looking right at Longbottom's ass.

"Oh, he's fit as fuck," Ron told them, laughing.

"I knew it," Daphne said triumphantly. "I wonder if he wants company for Christmas."

"Who wouldn't want someone at Christmas?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. Single life is decent. Isn't it Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged at Weasley's question.

"One day it would be nice to have that," Daphne told them, and they all followed her gaze. Pansy was sitting beside Harry on their love seat. He rubbed circles into the back of her hand as they talked to Longbottom and Luna, who drove Pansy absolutely crazy. With no worry at all about who was watching them or what they would think, Potter leaned down to kiss her head as she spoke.

Draco turned his eyes away, trying not to see the pain and longing in Hermione's face.

XXX

She had told him to wait until after midnight, because it wasn't Christmas until midnight, but he struggled to obey her wishes. The moment it was time, he left his room, passed the small bathroom, and pushed the door to Hermione's room open. "Holy fuck," he said, and she shushed him as she laughed.

"Shut the door or the charm won't work," she whispered. Draco obliged, refusing to take his eyes away from her as he did.

She was in fishnets.

Hermione fucking Granger in black fucking fishnets over glittery green heels. The tights attached to suspenders. The bodysuit was silver and sliced down the center with a deep v that dipped below her navel.

"Holy Fuck," he said again, as he took in the sight of a Slytherin tie loose around her neck; he prayed to every god he'd ever heard of that it was his, that she had stolen it from his apartment.

"You like it?" she asked, flushing again, and he stared open mouthed, unable to articulate the level of pain she was causing him. She had never in eight months worn anything this - whatever the hell it was.

"Tell me the name of the shop, and I'll buy you one for each day of the week."

Hermione laughed at him and uncrossed her legs on the bed. He realized that her knickers wouldn't need removing, and his cock throbbed.

"It won't be special if I wear it every day."

"I promise you, it will be," he moved forward, and she shook her head. "Strip first, Draco."

He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled off his shirt in one go and shoved down his pants and trousers before starting towards her again.

"Do me a favor?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, sure beyond a doubt he would do whatever she asked of him.

"Grab that ribbon there." She pointed towards the desk, and he picked up the small piece of black ribbon from it. He could tell right away that there was magic in it, and his excitement built.

"Come here," she told him.

Draco climbed on the bed, ribbon in hand.

Hermione lay beneath him, her curls going every which way. "Draco," she told him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I trust you implicitly," she whispered, and he looked confused for a moment as she pulled her hands up above her head. " _Incipio_ ," she whispered. The ribbon in his hand quivered and stretched and then broke into pieces.

"Hermione," he said, disbelieving. The ribbon wrapped around her wrists and ankles, tying each limb to the bed. Draco stared at her, sprawled before him, her teeth sucking in her lip again. Nervous. She was fucking nervous of whether he would like her gift.

He sat before her, naked and confused for a minute while she tried not to squirm. He tried to decide what to do, and then he knew, without a doubt. He leaned forward and pulled the tie from her neck. She arched up into him, and it took everything he had not to bury himself in her then. It would have been so easy. Instead, he instructed her to lift her head and wrapped the silk tie over her eyes, blindfolding her. He moved off the bed then, heading back to his trousers to grab his wand.

He summoned a small amount of the water in the glass at her bedside table out into the air and transfigured it into ice before popping the cube into his mouth. Hermione was squirming, growing impatient.

Draco climbed back between her legs, bracing himself with an elbow at either side of her torso, and kissed her skin as he ran the ice cube up from her navel to the dip between her breasts. Hermione gasped and arched again in reaction to the cold against her skin. Draco moved to his left, using his teeth to pull the small bit of lace to the side of her pink nipple. He rocked his cock against her thigh as his mouth descended, claiming her nipple into its icy depths. Hermione moaned as the ice ran across her flesh and pulled gently at the ribbon holding her.

Draco moved back down, sliding the ice up the other mound of perfect flesh to suck at her nipple until it was erect and cold. Hermione rocked her hips into him, and he worked hard to keep his control over his body. He would not waste this present on a quick shag. She was too fucking precious for that.

Draco dragged the bit of ice left down to her navel. By the time he scooted back, lifting her ass into his hands, the ice melted, but his mouth was freezing. He breathed against her bare cunt, and she squirmed again. "Draco, fuck, this is supposed to be your present," she demanded.

"Oh, this is my present." His tongue dove deep inside of her. Licking at her core, spreading the chill wherever he could until unable to resist the draw of her clit. He sucked at the small nub and twisted circles with his tongue. Hermione whimpered and cursed above him, her legs struggling against the ribbons she had restrained them in. His finger ran along the straps of her suspenders and down the fishnet as he sucked her with his tongue.

"Oh my god" she muttered. "Oh my god. Fuck. Draco." Hermione twisted, as if she might try to escape the orgasm she was teetering on. Grabbing her ass, he held her in place until she was writhing into his mouth, a mess of yes's amidst murmurs of his name. He pulled back, moving from the bed, and wiped his mouth.

She was the vision of a goddess, her hair mad and her body lax as she recovered, her cheeks flushed with passion. Draco reached down to stroke his cock a few times as he watched her, and something about her vulnerability reminded him of the moment downstairs when she had looked at Pansy and Potter and wanted it to be them.

"How do I stop it?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, surprised.

He climbed onto the bed and unwrapped the tie from her eyes.

"How?"

" _Insisto_." She watched him as the ribbon uncoiled and freed her. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. He kissed her softly, hoping that he could convey the emotion and energy which ran through his blood, but not having the words.

"Draco…"

He moved over her, still placing soft kisses on her skin. He slid inside of her with slow determination, and then he met her eyes, which had filled with concern, but he couldn't answer. He made love to her with gentle thrusts, his hands and lips caressing her each moment, worshiping her with his body in a way his words could not.

XXX

"Your turn," Harry told Hermione. She looked at her small pile of gifts and lifted the smallest box into her hands. It was covered in silver paper with a black silk ribbon bow. There was no marking of the giver on the outside, but she must realize it was from him. Hermione glanced at him quickly before she began to untie the ribbon with slow, purposeful movements, intent on torturing him as his heartbeat raced within his chest. She dropped the tie into her lap and began on the paper. Each move was meticulous, pulling each bit away with painful attention. Pansy rolled her eyes at Draco, but he couldn't bother to feign a reaction back. All of his attention was on Hermione's fingers as the paper fell away to reveal the small box in her hands. She looked up nervously at him.

"Come on," he told her.

"It's yours?" Pansy asked, and again he ignored her.

"Fine." Hermione laughed and pulled the top of the box away from the bottom. Her laugh fell into sudden silence the moment she saw what was inside. "Draco," she whispered.

"You can think about it," he blurted.

She set down the lid, her hand shaking as it moved back to lift out a loop of the same silk ribbon which had held the box shut.

"What's going on?" Potter asked. They both ignored him. Draco stared at Hermione as she stared at the small key dangling from the ribbon.

"You love your job, and I have mine, but I hate only seeing you every few weeks."

"Draco," she said, her eyes on his. He moved closer to her, putting his hand on her leg.

"Holy fuck," Pansy said.

"If you don't like my place ..."

"Draco," Hermione tried to cut in, but he kept talking, needing her to understand.

"Or, I'll move to Spain. I'm sure you weren't expecting this, and we haven't talked about it, but…" He leaned in, his forehead touching hers, drawing the memory of every time he had whispered the words to her when she was fast asleep. "I love you," he whispered.

Harry gaped in shock. "What—"

"I can't believe you assholes!" Pansy shouted.

"Draco, I quit my job." Hermione told him.

"What?" he asked.

"I quit. I told them I wasn't coming back. I didn't want you to be pressured if you weren't ready for more, but I quit to move home and see if …"

"What the fuck is happening?" Harry asked.

Draco didn't care. He buried his fingers in Hermione's crazy hair and kissed her right there in front of their best friends.

"I love you, too," she told him.

"I hate you both," Pansy snapped. "Biggest set of lying asses I've ever met."

"Move in then?" Draco asked. Hermione nodded and leaned in to kiss him again. He pulled her closer, and she dropped the key as she moved her arms around him.

XXX

The man had her back against the brick wall, kissing her madly as his fingers gripped her out of control hair. His own hair was disheveled, flying about in the wind as his coat did the same. One glove was shoved into his coat pocket and the other had fallen to the ground of the alley. He didn't seem to notice or care that it was missing.

"Home," the woman mumbled against his lips. "Home," she said again, an urgent need conveyed through one word.

The man grumbled, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him, leaving the forgotten glove behind. As he walked, his cheeks glowed with the cold, and his lips curved up into a smile.


End file.
